


The Medicine In Books

by BookishTea



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Books, Comfort Reading, Denial of Feelings, Developing Relationship, Dreams and Nightmares, Hurtfew Abbey, Implied Relationships, M/M, Master & Servant, Master/Servant, Nature Magic, Nervousness, Obsessive Behavior, Prophetic Dreams, Rain, Servants, Sick Character, Spells & Enchantments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-04-06 22:31:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4239021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BookishTea/pseuds/BookishTea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gilbert Norrell always preferred to say, a book a day keeps the doctors away. Some may disagree with that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Medicine In Books

***** The fiction below takes place two years before 1806, better known as John Segundus' inquiry to the York society about magic. *****

 

On one fine morning, Gilbert Norrell found himself at such odd spirits. Unlike yesterday, or the day before that, he was filled with an inescapable feeling of joy. It was dreadful, this feeling. He was utterly delirious with it, to the point where he decided to go for a walk.

As he tip-toed from his room and down a flight of stairs, Mr. Norrell couldn't help but be reminded of his youth. Those were foolish times, times where he held the favour of a handful of silly friends and the notion that John Uskglass was the answer to his prays. Today seemed no different from then, which firmed his resolve for this walk. The ever pleasant idea of staying in his library occurred to him, but with it came a bout of excited energy. He hated re-reading a sentence or phrase in one of his books, each word needed heavy consideration. Anything less was disrespectful to past magicians, and Mr. Norrell considered himself highly respectful.

Hands slightly shaking, Mr. Norrell raised himself on the peaks of his toes to grab his hanging coat. The floorboards underneath creaked loudly, shifting like an old boat at sea. He winced at the sound, and made sure to glance over his shoulder. Thankfully no one had risen from their stations, as homes like these tend to moan and whine with their antiquity.

Another tug, and off the coat went, settling nicely in the magician's hands.

As he slipped the familiar piece on, Mr. Norrell contemplated returning back upstairs. His signature wig was stored in his room, no doubt begging to be picked up.

 _Without it, you can enjoy your walk longer_.

Satisfied with his own cleverness, Mr. Norrell ignored the call of his powdered wig, and grabbed his shoes from the nearby cubby drawer. 

* * *

 With a skip to his step, Mr. Norrell wandered the grounds with ease. The grass underfoot was fresh with dew, and made his leather shoes sleek and glossy. They even gave an occasional squeak, something which Mr. Norrell tried his best to ignore.

He was glad he thought of this plan, his lungs felt light like the clouds drifting on the sky. And as he made his way through his gardens, he wondered about utilizing a weather spell.

It was rare when he ventured outside, so Childermass took it upon himself to care for the estate's vast land. Even under such considering fingers, some choose to curl into themselves while others flourished into a healthy bloom.

As he passed a particular English Leander rosebush, he eyed a rose that hadn't bloomed to its full potential. He hated half finished things. Trailing a finger along the silk petals, Mr. Norrell inspected Hurtfew Abbey's windows, wary of any movement flickering in the glass. Thankfully there was none.

Breathing steadily, Mr. Norrell released a gust of air from his chest. Spells like these were second nature to him now, impossibly easy to recite. Eyes sliding shut, Mr. Norrell began to murmur under his breath. Each word blurred into the next, unrecognizable to untrained ears. It was stirring the wind and the clouds, emotions of cool dampness and croaking frogs. They shifted into one another, vague like harp strings being plucked, but ever present.

Yielding, the sky darkened into a light grey. Thoughtful to the magician below, the clouds were vacant of hurt and anger. Thus, they weren't unnecessarily stormy.

A timid clap of thunder echoed, and shortly after a light pattering of rain caressed Hurtfew Abbey and all of her domain.

With a sudden wetness settling on his head, Mr. Norrell released his grip on the rose. Filled with a satisfaction he only got when he completed a spell, he next turned his endeavors to find somewhere to keep dry. 

The search wasn't long, as Mr. Norrell found himself at ease under the estate's notorious yew tree. This tree was famous for a number of reasons, the biggest being the mystery that surrounded it. There had always been rumors that it was around when the Raven King reigned as king, or that he planted the tree himself. Often Mr. Norrell reflected on the latter for a fountain of amusement, plainly for its ludicrous nature.

Still, if Mr. Norrell concentrated hard enough he could feel the tree buzzing with magic from its very roots. For questionable reasons, he choose to ignore that fact. And yet the tree pulsed under its rough bark, like a heartbeat. This did little to quench any of Mr. Norrell's fears, but he couldn't well voice his concerns. It lulled him into a sedated state, much like a mother and her restless babe.

It wasn't long before Mr. Norrell drifted to sleep, unaware of the rain continuing around him. Nor the dew seeping into his trousers, something that would offend him if he was aware of.

_He was in the ruins of a castle, or an unfinished room. He wasn't completely sure of which. Much like the walls, the floors were bare and made of stone. The only thing that could be considered decorative about the room was the twigs littering the ground, born from the tree breaking through the ruins. It was curious, this tree. Mr. Norrell found himself wondering of its origins, as he's never seen or heard of this particular tree before. The flowers that lusciously bloomed from the branches seemed rather strange, and on further inspection, he realized that they were made from wax. The vibrant colours flared in the dim lighting, melting downwards._

_"My word." he mumbled, and then gave a jolt when the words dragged out into an echo. It bounced against the walls, and the noise gave a disturbing silence once it finished._

_Bright light came to life, streaming down from the heavens. He squinted against the glare as he turned his attention heavenwards, curious as to why the dimness continued around him._

_A galaxy of twinkling stars stretched above, muddled in a plethora of unknown colours. In the furthest recesses of his mind, Mr. Norrell questioned if he'd ever see them again. Tears crept into the corners of his eyes, so abrupt in their arrival that they startled their owner._

_"Beautiful isn't it?"_

_Mr. Norrell tore his attention away, heart caught in his throat._

_Across from him sat a man, his face partially shrouded in shadows. Odd, he should have noticed him._

_"W-Who are you?" Mr. Norrell squeaked out, alarmed to have the man draped in a chair, take him away from the stars. The man didn't say anything, but he still had Mr. Norrell's organs leaping to and fro._

_"You know very well who I am." The man said simply, leaning forward so the shadows cracked away. Mr. Norrell was envious to find this stranger as handsome as his voice suggested, firm with his authority but burning with untold passion._

_Mr. Norrell had seen that very passion in his own eyes, when he had first discovered the magical world. That flame was still there, but dimmed with insecurities and solitude._

_The scent of crisp leaves entered Mr. Norrell's nostrils, fragrant in its own. Past memories of autumn surfaced; how books ought to be._

_"I'm sorry, sir. But I have no inkling of your identity, or if I've had the pleasure to make your acquaintance."_

_The moon and sun crashed into one another, an explosion of sights, smells, and sounds. Mr. Norrell screamed, mouth tasting of burnt chestnuts as he basked in the glow._

"Mr. Norrell!"

The lonely magician came to with a coughing fit, his body ached and trembled. Two eyes bubbling with fire hanged above him, and Mr. Norrell thought his heart would give out at the sight of them. But those earthy tones immediately soothed his troubles, announcing Childermass and his assistance.

"Sir?" Childermass tried again, uncertainty colouring his tone. The intelligent servant was joined by Lucas and Davey, each face marred with an anxious expression as they huddled around their employer. At that moment, Mr. Norrell became aware of his situation and his state of dress.

Flushing at this scandalous moment, Mr. Norrell scrambled to straighten himself. Childermass was having none of it, as he stilled the older's moments with a firm hand to the shoulder. Those five fingers radiated a heat that rivaled the sun, and Mr. Norrell shivering at their simplicity.

"We have not the slightest clue how long you've been out there, but you need to act slow and purposeful."

Such a bare thing to say, but still the sentence had Mr. Norrell conjuring a stirring of such. He had no idea what it meant to him, or if the relation was pleasant or not.

"Take me inside, Childermass." he said at last, feeling ridiculous with his weighed down coat and successfully soaked through trousers.

* * *

 

Mr. Norrell refused to be visited by any doctors, certain that they'd be incorrect in their theories and prescriptions. It was easy to become a doctor and anyone could become one, or so Mr. Norrell believed. Hence is why he ignored any attempt to be inquired after, and told Childermass so.

Accordingly he suffered from a mild fever, and a drearness that shifted in his old bones. He was not above complaining, and did so on several ocassionals. It got to the point that neither of the staff wanted to put up with him, but were afraid to express so.

In the end, Childermass was forced to accompany his employer. Resting by Mr. Norrell's bed side, he listened with an indifferent ear to his fretting. This increased tenfold when it became apparent that Mr. Norrell would be forced to take medicine, and wasn't allowed to preform a spell on himself to hurry up the process.

Ever keen to his surroundings and the state of the household's spirit, Childermass quieted this behaviour with a few books.

Pleased with this sympathy, Mr. Norrell awarded his beloved Childermass with a pat on the hand, as close to an attempt at affection as he'd show. He denies such action to this day, and if anything vaguely similar happened, he blames it on his late cold.

Childermass would continue to address these claims with a vexed nod of his head, but once in the safety of his musky chambers, would recall such events with the fleetest of blushes and smiles.

In the distance, the bell above the stables gave an eerie toll. And whispered from who knows where, came the phrase,  _I sit upon a black throne in the shadows but they shall not see me._

 

 


End file.
